


Ainitsuite

by alaskadaisy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, yuuri's ode to victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaskadaisy/pseuds/alaskadaisy
Summary: 愛について ai ni tsuite - in regards to love—Katsuki Yuuri has lost count of the amount of times he has fallen in love with Victor Nikiforov.These are twelve.





	Ainitsuite

**Author's Note:**

> this is the least heartbreaking thing i've ever written  
> somehow, beka and yurio the cheerio snuck their way in

The first time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he was still in school. It was Victor’s first World Championship, and even back then, being only eighteen or nineteen, he looked like he could carry the whole world on his shoulders and still manage any quad. In the interview after his win, a reporter asked, “What do you plan to do from now on?”  
Victor smiled at the camera, eyes glittering, and told them: “It's a surprise.”  
He still remembers running to the rink with Yuuko after the tournament ended, the two of them trying to copy his routine. “I'll win, too,” Yuuri told her. “Someday.”  
When she asked him how, he shrugged, telling her with a small laugh, “I'll make him my coach.”

The second time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he was leaving his home rink to train abroad.  
He and Phichit were lying around in their dorm, talking about home. Yuuri was daydreaming about hot springs and Yuuko and his old dog and Phichit just kept promising he would make Thai skaters mean something internationally. A certain sadness started to take over Yuuri. He wanted to be home.  
So he opened his laptop, pulling up a video of Victor’s skating at the most recent season. “I'm going to be like him someday,” he told Phichit, who watched with wide eyes.  
“I can picture it,” he said, spreading his hands out. “You, me, Victor, and ‘I Want to Skate’ at the Grand Prix Finals.”  
Yuuri raised an eyebrow, intrigued, “And who wins?”  
“We all do.”  
And they laughed, Yuuri feeling like he was home again.

The third time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, the sunshine and butterflies flew away.  
His nerves had eaten him alive and his routine with him. Yuuri realized, then, that he wasn't cut out for this anymore. Maybe he'd be better off in Hasetsu. And, god—how pathetic. How did he end up sobbing in a bathroom stall? How did he get here?  
He had so much growing up. He always felt alone, sure, but that was fine; he still had places to go. He could do ballet until the sun rose or fall on the ice all day long if it wasn't booked. He had somewhere to go, and with that, ways to grow.  
So there he was, twenty-something and too old to be getting chewed out by some Russian brat, but he was there nonetheless. He had accepted his fate. Retirement wasn't so bad, anyway.  
Then he saw Victor Nikiforov.  
_I should talk to him_ , he thought. He should have done something, but- “Fan?”  
He felt the reality sink in. Was it even love, or was it just adoration? Was he just some nameless fanatic?

The fourth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he would forget it entirely.  
He was drunk, yes. Celeste had dragged him to the afterparty and he figured he had nothing to lose. He already lost his career. Besides, alcohol.  
But Yuuri has never been one to hold his liquor well. So as luck would have it, he ended up not only talking to, but dancing with his idol. He gushed to him, a jumble of slurred words, and Victor laughed that awkward chuckle that was still somehow charming. “Come to Japan and be my coach,” he begged.  
Victor smiled, and Yuuri fell in love with the sparkle in his eyes that said, _I just might_.

The fifth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he was back home in Hasetsu. After ten-too-many pork cutlets bowls that week, the katsudon himself decided to show Yuuko what he had been working on diligently in his time off.  
He didn't want to be depressed. He didn't want to let failure become him. You can only stay down on the ice for so long.  
So he returned to his roots. He learned Victor’s routine, every twist and turn of it. He executed it flawlessly despite himself, despite everything. He felt the fervor return to his veins. He felt hopeful, again.  
Victor Nikiforov became his shining star. His hope.  
...until he became viral.

The sixth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he fell in love with the image of him.  
There he was, posed in the hot spring.  
There he was, steam surrounding him, hand on jutted out hip.  
There he was, in all his goddamned glory.  
Yuuri couldn't help but stare, couldn't help but marvel. When he fell asleep on their floor, he watched in awe at how careless the skating world’s sweetheart could look. He couldn't help but fight him off with every advance he made that night.

The seventh time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he found his muse.  
Watching Yuri Plisetsky skate, he couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t up to par. This kid was, what, fifteen? And he could already skate like he had a host of gold medals under his belt. He felt the anxiety rising, threatening to overtake him again—and maybe this would be another flop. Maybe he would fail again. He was already in Japan, it’s not like-  
“Yuuri. It’s your turn.”  
He looked up into his would-be coach’s face, blue eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the sidelines. It was an easy decision: He wouldn’t let him go back to Russia.  
He threw everything he had into that hug, all of his honesty into that promise. He would win, he would. He would be the tastiest pork cutlet bowl, if that’s what it meant for him to stay.  
It was funny, almost, how the announcers went on about him thinking of his favorite food. That was fair. They could have their vision of his inspiration, and that was their claim to make—he was the one who gave them that idea, anyway. Victor and his spin-stories.  
Who was he really skating for, though?  
He smiled at one particular face in the crowd, taking a deep breath.  
He knew.

 

The eighth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he fell in love with the real Victor.  
It was a late night after practice and he had knocked on Yuuri’s door three times. “Yuuuuri,” he cried. “I'm cold.”  
“It's April,” Yuuri tried to protest, but everything came out tired and muffled.  
He knocked again. Again.  
“Christ, just come in!”  
The door opened immediately, and Nikiforov himself crawled into bed with the katsudon. He didn't try anything. He just laid next to him, staring at the ceiling, and whispered, “Do you ever get scared?”  
“What?” Yuuri asked, blinking away the sleep resonating in his system. He looked over at the Russian next to him, usually all poise and confidence and bubbles, but now so… raw.  
“What if-” he shook his head. “When you're in the air, there's a moment where it feels like you might never come back down.”  
“Yeah,” Yuuri agreed.  
“Sometimes I feel like that.”  
“Me, too.”  
He woke up in the morning to a snoring Victor stretched across his chest, and took the time to snap a picture before loudly telling him to _get lost_.

The ninth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he broke down.  
It was the Grand Prix Opening in China, and Yuuri was beginning to realize how in over his head he was. What if they lost? What if he went back to Japan, alone, and that was that? All those nights, all those days spent training—for what?  
Yuuri has always been a nervous wreck, but this was the first time Victor was not equipped to handle it. So, he figured, he would make it worse; if he was so on the verge, then shattering him was the only way to mend the situation. But when his soft—and empty, always empty—threat to abandon Yuuri only dug the dagger in deeper, he didn’t know what to do.  
And that was the thing—he didn’t want it to reflect on Victor. He wanted his mistakes to be his own, as they had always been. But this was the first time he realized that when he took a fall, he took Victor down, too. They were a package deal now, and Yuuri wasn’t quite sure how to handle that. He didn’t know if he could. So when Victor mused that he would just resign, taking full responsibility, he thought he really did want to sever ties. Maybe this was all too much—he wasn’t used to being a coach, wanted to be the star, didn’t want to deal with some dumb Japanese man who couldn’t get his act together this late in his career.  
He had never been good at consoling people, and Yuuri had never been good at being consoled. But when he told him to have faith in him, and Victor walked quietly back with him by his side, taking his hand, he knew it was never a question of win or lose. It was never an option for either of them to back out.  
Because the ninth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he realized he hadn’t fallen alone. He never was.

The tenth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, it hadn’t even been an hour.  
He had this idiotic idea, spur of the moment, but one he acted on—he changed the last jump to a quadruple flip, Victor’s signature move.  
He remembers trying to figure out if Victor was mad, or crying, or _what_ , but then next thing he knew he was right there, and Yuuri was beaming, asking how he did. He didn’t answer, didn’t have to—he might have been angry at how careless falling onto the ice was if his mind wasn’t running through _hekissedmehekissedmehekissedme_.  
The pure adoration in Victor’s voice as he told him, “This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me,” wiped Yuuri’s mind of any thoughts of a podium. It was just then, there, now, as it always would be.

The eleventh time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he was sputtering pointless garbage across a dinner table at his fellow Russian.  
“He’s cute,” he mumbled, nodding to the blond’s phone.  
Yurio pulled it toward him with a scowl, but it wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know what was going on with him and the Kazakh. His Instagram wasn’t _that_ vague, as much as he liked to think it was.  
“You’re young, though,” he continued, patting his head. Yuuri imagined he would have hissed if humans could, with all social barriers in mind, hiss. “Give it a couple years, and then, then-”  
“What?” Yurio grumbled, young eyes narrowed. “Then I can get married and live happily ever after like you two?” He scoffed, but there was a hint of a grin on his lips. “As if.”  
The more Victor tried to convince Yurio of—well, who knows, really—the more he grew fond of him. He was senseless, really, and the last thing the sixteen year-old wanted was dating advice from his former rink-mate, but he still spoke with such conviction. Yuuri doubted he’d ever said a word he didn’t mean.

The twelfth time Katsuki Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov, he fell in love with his future.  
Victor was lounging on the couch, flipping through channels. “That’s the problem with these foreign hotels,” he complained. “They never have any good shows.”  
Yuuri shook his head, smiling all the while, “You’re just too picky.”  
“Maybe if you chose to entertain me instead-” he tried, but Yuuri cut him off.  
“I’m cooking.”  
“Ramen?”  
“Yes.”  
He sighed. Then, again, louder, waiting for a response he never got. But eventually he settled on one channel, and the Ramen was cooked enough to be considered edible. Yuuri sat down next to him, placing two bowls with matching bear and pig chopsticks down on the coffee table.  
They were somewhere in-between Yuuri loudly slurping his soup and Victor complaining, but him reminding him _that’s how you’re supposed to eat it_ , when Victor suddenly froze, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked, blinking at him. “Is it the soup, should I-”  
He placed a finger to his lips, shaking his head. “I was just thinking.”  
“What?” he asked, Victor scowling and wiping off his now-wet finger as if that’s the worst thing they’ve done.  
“I love you.”  
He felt his cheeks flush, but all the same mumbled, “I love you, too,” thinking that even after the thrill of the ice was gone, after the world had forgotten their names, he’d always have this.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is lovely  
> (also it's about damn time i posted something)


End file.
